Poet's Corner Section Fifteen Miscellaneous verses by Jamiluddin Morris Zahuri |
| Love and Beauty Miscellaneous |
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Beauty
Beauty is in the beholder’s eye, its true,
But the beholder who beholds just You!
Whatever he sees who is seeing You,
Takes on the glow of Your beauty too.
Far Seeking
I am you father and your mother,
I am your sister and your brother,
I am your spouse and your lover,
I am your beloved and every other,
I am your friend, and your pet, moreover.
I am in, above, below, and around you,
I am love, seeking me far, why are you?
Verses on Love
I am not averse to Love,
So this is a verse to Love!
It is a vice to give Love advice,
Or to Love to send an invoice!
But to give Love a sweet voice,
The ardent lover has no choice.
To make a much subtler point, this hear,
The lover with many words does appear,
That into the beloved’s silence disappear,
Till the lover as beloved does re-appear.
Then all this loving idle chatter,
Does no longer really matter!
Silence and sound seem to unite,
To give birth to the words we write.
And love becomes a verse to delight,
Or a radiant light in the dark of night.
affection, If you want to know what love is become me’. (Mevlana
Rumi in Masnevi).
Unconditional Love.
If the devotion of those who say they truly love me,
Encircled by circumstance and reservation, I see,
That circumstantial reserve arises from inability,
To free myself from inhibition - in loving Thee;
And further this much is evident - in Thy love for me,
Thy wine, with some water mixed it surely must be.
So I complain not that my lover’s hearts beat feebly,
But of the potency of the wine You provide for me,
Please serve a richer vintage, O Saki, pour freely,
Till I cannot distinguish between myself and Thee,
And I know not which is the author of my destiny,
And finally from my Self absorption become free..
The Wedding Night
Entering the bridal chamber, the groom, trying to cover with gentle
words,
Insinuating looks and quiet compliments, the hearts pounding pace,
Gently approached her.
Covering his lips with her finger the bride threw aside the veil - without
words,
And guided a trembling hand to her breast, pulled him to her tight
embrace,
And ravished him all.
Through the window the moon's unblinking gaze cast shadows on the
wall,
song.
The dancers danced, and to the bride and groom the people drank
their fill
Deep and long.
Deep and long.
In the morning, was it the warmth of the sun, they had to wonder,
That melted the icicles, whose steady drip woke them from their short
slumber?
Was it the warm breeze from the west with its promise of spring,
That to the faces a smile, and to the lips of the people good words did
bring?
Or was it some good news of the state, some epistle of freedom,
That put a song in their hearts as they went to the tasks of the kingdom?
Or was it love?
It was Love - and it never dies.
My Beloved’s Beauty
The finest silk cloth, stitched with affection,
By tailors whose art has reached perfection,
Cannot enhance by any measure whatever,
My beloved’s beauty - beyond description.
When shopping in the costliest market place,
Of the best silk and the finest lace – no trace,
They have hidden their heads in hopeless shame,
For that beauty they cannot hope to embrace.
When walking in the garden, hear the sighs,
As the pride of the proudest rose just dies,
And when just quietly humming a pretty tune,
‘Tis the music of the spheres humbly replies.
The wide-eyed doe whose glance pierces the heart,
In front of my love, loses all her seductive art,
The dust of my grave so carelessly trod on,
Blissfully cries, ‘Ah, my love and I, never apart’.
A Romantic Song
My head in your lap, I can only see,
Dark eyes looking down seductively,
‘Sing to me my love, O do please!’
Whilst those eyes mercilessly tease;
And love’s fountain bursts into a song,
Bubbling up from some source hid for long;
Telling of a starry romantic night,
Of waves lapping the shore in moonlight,
Of rose petals strewn carelessly,
Of lips meeting, oh so tenderly,
To this, and much more, voice it gives;
And the heart truly loves, and so lives.
And if it is a dream of a romantic kind,
There must be a reality hidden behind .
What comes into imagination, how comes it?
Soft supple skin sure has hard bone within it.
So do not dismiss this romantic vision,
Seek the Source by whom it was given.
Sweet Moments
Sweet moments seem to slide silently by,
Passing into eternity, where each one lies,
Quiescent, and hid from temporal eyes;
Till lovers are re-united with their sighs,
And separations pain no more remains –
Just the joy, which that moment ever retains.
The Pearl
From out of the briny ocean's swell,
Beauty emerged! How? None can tell.
Perfect in essence and in detail see,
Her simple, pearl like, luminosity.
No matter with how many words, or
How cutely contrived the metaphor
That I try to cover her with; to me,
Pristine and pure she will always be.
Whether disguised as a natural scene
In music's strains heard, or artifacts seen,
Or in a quiet afternoon in the park;
Or in a human form (fair or dark);
She still seems like a pearl to me,
In an opened shell, waiting to be
Seen as she really is; and to reveal
She is the Truth that forms conceal.
Today
This is the time, in wine and roses to take delight,
The time to stay drunk, morning, noon and night,
The time with wild eyed lovers at love to play,
The time to drink deep from love's cup, is today
So do you hear what i say?
Say it again and again I say,
The time to drink wine is today!
The time to drink wine is today!
There are days to bear the company of the sober,
But it is not this day. I don't have to think this over,
Today is the day to indulge the heart in love play,
The time to drink to the landlord's daughter, is today,
So do you hear what i say?
Say it again and again I say,
The time to drink wine is today!
The time to drink wine is today!
There are ways I know to be better and wiser,
To learn from a knowledgeable and good adviser,
But today, a love song is better, just hear what I say,
The time to drown this mean world in wine, is today.
So do you hear what i say?
Say it again and again I say,
The time to drink wine is today!
The time to drink wine is today!
Beauty is in the beholder’s eye, its true,
But the beholder who beholds just You!
Whatever he sees who is seeing You,
Takes on the glow of Your beauty too.
Far Seeking
I am you father and your mother,
I am your sister and your brother,
I am your spouse and your lover,
I am your beloved and every other,
I am your friend, and your pet, moreover.
I am in, above, below, and around you,
I am love, seeking me far, why are you?
Verses on Love
I am not averse to Love,
So this is a verse to Love!
It is a vice to give Love advice,
Or to Love to send an invoice!
But to give Love a sweet voice,
The ardent lover has no choice.
To make a much subtler point, this hear,
The lover with many words does appear,
That into the beloved’s silence disappear,
Till the lover as beloved does re-appear.
Then all this loving idle chatter,
Does no longer really matter!
Silence and sound seem to unite,
To give birth to the words we write.
And love becomes a verse to delight,
Or a radiant light in the dark of night.
affection, If you want to know what love is become me’. (Mevlana
Rumi in Masnevi).
Unconditional Love.
If the devotion of those who say they truly love me,
Encircled by circumstance and reservation, I see,
That circumstantial reserve arises from inability,
To free myself from inhibition - in loving Thee;
And further this much is evident - in Thy love for me,
Thy wine, with some water mixed it surely must be.
So I complain not that my lover’s hearts beat feebly,
But of the potency of the wine You provide for me,
Please serve a richer vintage, O Saki, pour freely,
Till I cannot distinguish between myself and Thee,
And I know not which is the author of my destiny,
And finally from my Self absorption become free..
The Wedding Night
Entering the bridal chamber, the groom, trying to cover with gentle
words,
Insinuating looks and quiet compliments, the hearts pounding pace,
Gently approached her.
Covering his lips with her finger the bride threw aside the veil - without
words,
And guided a trembling hand to her breast, pulled him to her tight
embrace,
And ravished him all.
Through the window the moon's unblinking gaze cast shadows on the
wall,
song.
The dancers danced, and to the bride and groom the people drank
their fill
Deep and long.
Deep and long.
In the morning, was it the warmth of the sun, they had to wonder,
That melted the icicles, whose steady drip woke them from their short
slumber?
Was it the warm breeze from the west with its promise of spring,
That to the faces a smile, and to the lips of the people good words did
bring?
Or was it some good news of the state, some epistle of freedom,
That put a song in their hearts as they went to the tasks of the kingdom?
Or was it love?
It was Love - and it never dies.
My Beloved’s Beauty
The finest silk cloth, stitched with affection,
By tailors whose art has reached perfection,
Cannot enhance by any measure whatever,
My beloved’s beauty - beyond description.
When shopping in the costliest market place,
Of the best silk and the finest lace – no trace,
They have hidden their heads in hopeless shame,
For that beauty they cannot hope to embrace.
When walking in the garden, hear the sighs,
As the pride of the proudest rose just dies,
And when just quietly humming a pretty tune,
‘Tis the music of the spheres humbly replies.
The wide-eyed doe whose glance pierces the heart,
In front of my love, loses all her seductive art,
The dust of my grave so carelessly trod on,
Blissfully cries, ‘Ah, my love and I, never apart’.
A Romantic Song
My head in your lap, I can only see,
Dark eyes looking down seductively,
‘Sing to me my love, O do please!’
Whilst those eyes mercilessly tease;
And love’s fountain bursts into a song,
Bubbling up from some source hid for long;
Telling of a starry romantic night,
Of waves lapping the shore in moonlight,
Of rose petals strewn carelessly,
Of lips meeting, oh so tenderly,
To this, and much more, voice it gives;
And the heart truly loves, and so lives.
And if it is a dream of a romantic kind,
There must be a reality hidden behind .
What comes into imagination, how comes it?
Soft supple skin sure has hard bone within it.
So do not dismiss this romantic vision,
Seek the Source by whom it was given.
Sweet Moments
Sweet moments seem to slide silently by,
Passing into eternity, where each one lies,
Quiescent, and hid from temporal eyes;
Till lovers are re-united with their sighs,
And separations pain no more remains –
Just the joy, which that moment ever retains.
The Pearl
From out of the briny ocean's swell,
Beauty emerged! How? None can tell.
Perfect in essence and in detail see,
Her simple, pearl like, luminosity.
No matter with how many words, or
How cutely contrived the metaphor
That I try to cover her with; to me,
Pristine and pure she will always be.
Whether disguised as a natural scene
In music's strains heard, or artifacts seen,
Or in a quiet afternoon in the park;
Or in a human form (fair or dark);
She still seems like a pearl to me,
In an opened shell, waiting to be
Seen as she really is; and to reveal
She is the Truth that forms conceal.
Today
This is the time, in wine and roses to take delight,
The time to stay drunk, morning, noon and night,
The time with wild eyed lovers at love to play,
The time to drink deep from love's cup, is today
So do you hear what i say?
Say it again and again I say,
The time to drink wine is today!
The time to drink wine is today!
There are days to bear the company of the sober,
But it is not this day. I don't have to think this over,
Today is the day to indulge the heart in love play,
The time to drink to the landlord's daughter, is today,
So do you hear what i say?
Say it again and again I say,
The time to drink wine is today!
The time to drink wine is today!
There are ways I know to be better and wiser,
To learn from a knowledgeable and good adviser,
But today, a love song is better, just hear what I say,
The time to drown this mean world in wine, is today.
So do you hear what i say?
Say it again and again I say,
The time to drink wine is today!
The time to drink wine is today!
The Beauties of Poetry
A poem is like a woman for sure,
All come knocking on Joseph’s door,
And, on demand, their pass they're showing,
An orange, a knife, and a palm bleeding;
Poems come to the poet in such variety,
Each displaying their unique femininity;
Alluring, seductive, a little reluctant,
Or eager, and energetically expectant;
Sensitive, shy and wondering why,
Or openly and boldly giving the eye;
Slickly silky and even slightly sly,
Or on some kind of natural high;
Mystically, moody and alluring,
Or commanding and demanding;
Tough talking but tender beneath
(A bit like overly cooked beef);
Curvaceously cute with long flowing locks,
Or not bothered about superficial looks;
Chatty and endlessly witty,
Or girlishly young and pretty;
Wide eyed, trusting and adoring,
Or deep, but apparently boring;
Pious and pure, like a prayer;
Or cheeky and given to banter;
Modest, mild, meek and demure,
Or forever demanding yet more;
Reassuringly confident in every way,
Or just plain having a great deal to say;
To the point, straight up, and direct,
Or subtly suggestive to good effect;
Intellectually stimulating and exciting,
Or salaciously seductive and inviting.
About poems, and women, one could say so much more,
But in common they both want to reach heaven’s door.
The poem demands from the poet’s time,
To be dressed in the best words and rhyme;
And a woman demands her allures,
Are decked out for a love that endures.
Of course there’s a difference really,
Between women’s ways and poetry;
A poem has certain limits for sure,
But a woman’s ways – need I say more!
In reality there is only one poem, ultimately,
And only one Poet writing it, beautifully;
Just as there is really only one true story -
Of Joseph’s beauty, hardship, and glory.
Afterthought
In case your worthy sense of purity,
Is offended by this talk of femininity;
Remember the words are from the heart,
And hear it, I pray, with your better part;
And in the holy Qur’an one may see,
(And with this you must surely agree),
Yes, You
Time and time again, I turned to You,
Everywhere I turned I found only You,
Whether to East or West, I turned,
Whatever came in sight was,- yes, You,
City streets I walked, containing only You,
People passing by – I saw were all You
This state was not by me somehow earned,
It was an unexpected gift from – yes, You.
Even the street signs spoke only of You,
I looked in a mirror and saw just You,
I thought something of You I had learned
Until You turned me towards – yes, You.
I walked towards and away from You,
I turned corners only to bump into You:
And when toward home I finally turned,
Of course there also I found - yes, You.
Misery
Wind through willows, wistfully wailing,
Oh how else should it be?
Grey waves on forlorn rocks, pounding,
Oh! how else should it be?
Drought dry dust on withered crops, failing,
Oh! how else should it be?
Charred remnants of cherished dreaming,
Oh how else should it be?
In the far corner of your love, alone sitting,
Oh! now that is misery!
This Bird Can Really Sing
A thing so clear for all to hear and see,
So strangely, seems intended just for me.
This paradox shows itself quite readily,
In the way something appears to be -
Engaging you, with a visual or vocal utterance,
That wordlessly says, ‘for you alone, I dance’.
Whether it be a rosebud bursting into bloom,
Or the glance of a baby across the living room.
To a truly opened heart and clear mind,
The Maker is so generous and so kind,
That you can really only wonder just why,
A gift of His anyone would wish to deny.
So welcome! O graceful bird, perched on high,
Welcome, to your song, so like a lover’s sigh.
In the kingdom of my opened mind and heart,
Practise daily if you will your sweet and subtle art.
I still marvel with what sublime simplicity,
He intricately intertwines illusion with reality,
To make raw grapes into intoxicating wines,
Or coarse sounds into subtle songs. He so refines -
Nature’s art, it passes beyond the boundary line,
And a universal beauty becomes entirely mine.
Ah Yes!
Ah when the spirit moves the pen,
Then words become alive again!
The page receives a new impress,
And to love, life again says ’Yes’.
The best wine freely flows,
And true love daily grows,
Beauty wears new clothes,
Now when anything goes!
Celestial fire burns up our piety,
Emptying the self in its entirety,
And all this from just one smile,
For one who went the extra mile!
Oh smile again and make us new,
Give us a new life - lived in You.
Fine Art
O yes curvaceous contours can create,
Feelings that the heart and the mind elate!
But be aware of the need for purity,
They can also base nature stimulate.
Beauty's Boast
The essence of Hafiz's verse is Essence,
May a million scholars take no offence,
A beauty that vanquishes hearts and minds,
On the battlefield needs no other defence.
A poem is like a woman for sure,
All come knocking on Joseph’s door,
And, on demand, their pass they're showing,
An orange, a knife, and a palm bleeding;
Poems come to the poet in such variety,
Each displaying their unique femininity;
Alluring, seductive, a little reluctant,
Or eager, and energetically expectant;
Sensitive, shy and wondering why,
Or openly and boldly giving the eye;
Slickly silky and even slightly sly,
Or on some kind of natural high;
Mystically, moody and alluring,
Or commanding and demanding;
Tough talking but tender beneath
(A bit like overly cooked beef);
Curvaceously cute with long flowing locks,
Or not bothered about superficial looks;
Chatty and endlessly witty,
Or girlishly young and pretty;
Wide eyed, trusting and adoring,
Or deep, but apparently boring;
Pious and pure, like a prayer;
Or cheeky and given to banter;
Modest, mild, meek and demure,
Or forever demanding yet more;
Reassuringly confident in every way,
Or just plain having a great deal to say;
To the point, straight up, and direct,
Or subtly suggestive to good effect;
Intellectually stimulating and exciting,
Or salaciously seductive and inviting.
About poems, and women, one could say so much more,
But in common they both want to reach heaven’s door.
The poem demands from the poet’s time,
To be dressed in the best words and rhyme;
And a woman demands her allures,
Are decked out for a love that endures.
Of course there’s a difference really,
Between women’s ways and poetry;
A poem has certain limits for sure,
But a woman’s ways – need I say more!
In reality there is only one poem, ultimately,
And only one Poet writing it, beautifully;
Just as there is really only one true story -
Of Joseph’s beauty, hardship, and glory.
Afterthought
In case your worthy sense of purity,
Is offended by this talk of femininity;
Remember the words are from the heart,
And hear it, I pray, with your better part;
And in the holy Qur’an one may see,
(And with this you must surely agree),
Yes, You
Time and time again, I turned to You,
Everywhere I turned I found only You,
Whether to East or West, I turned,
Whatever came in sight was,- yes, You,
City streets I walked, containing only You,
People passing by – I saw were all You
This state was not by me somehow earned,
It was an unexpected gift from – yes, You.
Even the street signs spoke only of You,
I looked in a mirror and saw just You,
I thought something of You I had learned
Until You turned me towards – yes, You.
I walked towards and away from You,
I turned corners only to bump into You:
And when toward home I finally turned,
Of course there also I found - yes, You.
Misery
Wind through willows, wistfully wailing,
Oh how else should it be?
Grey waves on forlorn rocks, pounding,
Oh! how else should it be?
Drought dry dust on withered crops, failing,
Oh! how else should it be?
Charred remnants of cherished dreaming,
Oh how else should it be?
In the far corner of your love, alone sitting,
Oh! now that is misery!
This Bird Can Really Sing
A thing so clear for all to hear and see,
So strangely, seems intended just for me.
This paradox shows itself quite readily,
In the way something appears to be -
Engaging you, with a visual or vocal utterance,
That wordlessly says, ‘for you alone, I dance’.
Whether it be a rosebud bursting into bloom,
Or the glance of a baby across the living room.
To a truly opened heart and clear mind,
The Maker is so generous and so kind,
That you can really only wonder just why,
A gift of His anyone would wish to deny.
So welcome! O graceful bird, perched on high,
Welcome, to your song, so like a lover’s sigh.
In the kingdom of my opened mind and heart,
Practise daily if you will your sweet and subtle art.
I still marvel with what sublime simplicity,
He intricately intertwines illusion with reality,
To make raw grapes into intoxicating wines,
Or coarse sounds into subtle songs. He so refines -
Nature’s art, it passes beyond the boundary line,
And a universal beauty becomes entirely mine.
Ah Yes!
Ah when the spirit moves the pen,
Then words become alive again!
The page receives a new impress,
And to love, life again says ’Yes’.
The best wine freely flows,
And true love daily grows,
Beauty wears new clothes,
Now when anything goes!
Celestial fire burns up our piety,
Emptying the self in its entirety,
And all this from just one smile,
For one who went the extra mile!
Oh smile again and make us new,
Give us a new life - lived in You.
Fine Art
O yes curvaceous contours can create,
Feelings that the heart and the mind elate!
But be aware of the need for purity,
They can also base nature stimulate.
Beauty's Boast
The essence of Hafiz's verse is Essence,
May a million scholars take no offence,
A beauty that vanquishes hearts and minds,
On the battlefield needs no other defence.